


Beautiful

by insertcleveruserhere



Series: Morrigan and Samara [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate sexuality, Dragon Age - Freeform, F/F, Lesbian, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-13
Updated: 2020-11-13
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27535771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/insertcleveruserhere/pseuds/insertcleveruserhere
Summary: Morrigan pines for Samara.
Relationships: Female Cousland/Morrigan (Dragon Age), Morrigan/Female Warden (Dragon Age)
Series: Morrigan and Samara [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012650
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Beautiful

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not 100% happy with how this turned out but I did want to give some more context to my other piece, "Queens and Caboodling". Both are standalone, but I would suggest reading that piece if you enjoy sexy times :)

“You look beautiful.” 

Morrigan had balked in the Warden’s face when she’d said those three stupid, ill-intended words. Beauty was not something neither of the young women should be concerning themselves with, especially in the midst of a Blight. She’d rolled her eyes and told Samara to bugger off, lying about being busy trying to make sense of the many, many pages and notes and spells in Flemeth’s grimoire. 

She was equally annoyed by the fact that the book Samara recovered from the Circle Tower was not, in fact, her Mother’s grimoire, but rather a cheap replica that Morrigan had been foolish enough to believe Flemeth would ever part with. 

“You look beautiful.” 

She couldn’t believe that she’d ever said anything so foolish. There was no reason for Samara to believe that there was anything beautiful about Morrigan - she’d been nothing but crass and rude ever since Flemeth offered her services to the Warden’s party. 

That fateful day, Morrigan had been rather startled when she discovered that Samara was lying in the bed she and her mother shared, bleeding from the waist and from the head. Alistair, the fool’s, wounds had been significantly less severe than the woman’s, and Morrigan had been convinced that the freshly initiated woman wouldn’t have been able to survive the night. 

Morrigan bound her wounds, making sure that she wouldn’t bleed out before morning came. She ensured that her cuts were stitched and her bruises were iced, and that the pain would be as dulled as Morrigan was capable of keeping it, though she was no healer. Flemeth was much more suited for this sort of work. 

And then, like she was some cheap animal to be sold at market, to be bartered off and traded like cattle, Flemeth offered her services to the new Warden and the idiot Warden; she wasn’t quite sure which was which. 

She offered them Lothering, and Samara - the new Warden - agreed that it would be a good idea to gather their bearings, make sure that they didn’t have to worry about death and Darkspawn. They needed to get out of the Woods, and away from Ostagar. 

Morrigan was perfectly content staying at home, or so she convinced herself. For years, she’d pined over the idea of finding her way out of the woods, of maintaining an air of regality as she made her way down the streets of Denerim, dining with Lords and Ladies, her pinky out as she didn’t live with the curse of magic, or the curse of Flemeth or the curse of…

She knew what she had to do. It frightened her, though. 

Samara was always kind, and it frustrated Morrigan to no end. There was no rationing with the woman - she was going to be a martyr to the people no matter what mood she was in. She was always thinking of the greater good, or whatever shit they were preaching in the Chantry nowadays. 

And that was truly the kicker. Samara didn’t believe in the Maker, not the way Alistair did, and certainly not the way Leliana did. She was strange, her Samara -

Her Samara. Morrigan scoffs out a laugh. What a foolish thought. 

She certainly didn’t think of her as “her” Samara when she overheard Alistair bumbling over his awkward flirts as Samara profusely apologized for only being attracted to women and not wanting to hurt Alistair’s feelings, bla bla bla. It had been a wonderfully awkward conversation that Morrigan quite enjoyed eavesdropping on until Samara confessed to him that she was only attracted to the fairer sex, and that there was no animosity toward him.

Morrigan was of the fairer sex. 

But that was a ridiculous thought, yet again, because Morrigan was neither fair nor was she kind nor was she worth the time of a Cousland. 

Morrigan created false dichotomies like that often, and it was a flaw she knew she needed to work on. Samara had given her no indication that she believed herself to be superior in any way, as nobility, as a Grey Warden, as a city-raised human. It wasn’t fair of her to assume that Samara would think of her as any less. 

Samara Cousland was a good woman, and it scared Morrigan. 

It scared her because she liked it. She liked the gifts and the games and the banter, the sweet smiles and lingering stares and bathing with her - 

Damnation, did she like bathing with her. 

She didn’t know how she got roped into playing that stupid little strategy game. Leliana found it, in a pile of rubble, and Samara gasped when she realized all but one of the pieces was intact and accounted for, and Leliana had gifted the treasured prize to Samara. 

And Samara chose Morrigan to play with. 

Morrigan assumed that she played with everyone in their little party. She was wrong in that assumption, and she learned this vital piece of information when Alistair so lovingly taunted her for it, as if it were going to hurt her feelings. Instead, it just muddled things further. 

“You look beautiful.”

She’d handed her a mirror, encrusted in gold and jewels, and she smiles at her. Morrigan had scoffed - she had no way of knowing her pitiful tale of her encounter with a mirror as a girl, and still, she brought it to her? Morrigan looks it over now, combing her hair out, and Samara promised that she was beautiful. 

Beauty was not something that Flemeth treasured, nor was it something that Morrigan had ever given much thought. She knew that the woods were beautiful, and that Leliana and Samara were both lovely women and…

Samara was stunning. 

Her cheekbones were high and sculpted, like the women in books, and her hair was well-maintained and cared for, even after months of hardship. Her eyes were “Cousland blue”, striking and regal and royal and all the things that Morrigan yearned to be. Her smile lit up the dreariest of rooms, and it gave Morrigan...hope. She was hopeful, for her part to play, for Samara’s role. 

She didn’t want to lose her. She didn’t want to hurt her. 

So, she keeps to herself. She plays her games. She listens to Leliana’s songs and Alistair’s jokes and she watches Samara’s smile, and the beauty she holds, close to her chest.


End file.
